Page 32 of Make Me Mean It

I grab one of the napkins wrapped around my cup and press it against the stain, scrubbing over the darkest part until the paper softens beneath my fingers and starts breaking apart.

It isn’t lifting.

I rub harder, dragging the napkin back and forth over the same patch, but the coffee only bleeds further through the fabric, spreading the wetness wider while little scraps of white paper catch against my shirt.

“Come on,” I mutter, picking them off with fingers that aren’t quite as steady anymore before going straight back to the stain, scrubbing until the fabric pulls beneath my hand and the napkin starts disintegrating completely.

This is making it worse. I can see that it’s making it worse, can see the dark edges spreading and feel the cold fabric sticking over more of my skin, but stopping would mean leaving it like this and I can’t leave it like this.

My breathing has gone too shallow, every inhale catching high in my chest while I rub harder, chasing one edge of the stain only for another to spread beneath my hand.

Theo’s hand closes over mine, the ruined napkin crushed between our palms while my fingers keep twitching uselessly beneath his, still trying to scrub at the stain even though he’s stopped me.

“Christ, princess.” His thumb presses firmly into the side of my hand. “It’s only coffee.”

“It’s not only coffee.”

My voice breaks around the words, and Theo stills.

His hand stays over mine, holding it against my chest while every shallow breath moves our knuckles with the wet fabric, in and out, in and out, and I can’t seem to pull enough air past the vice of my throat.

I fist the front of my shirt, pulling it away from me while my brain races ahead to the lecture, to sitting beneath those bright fucking lights for an hour with a stain spread across my chest, knowing it’s there even when I’m not looking at it. I’ll smell the coffee every time I move.

I need it off.

Theo doesn’t say anything, the silence stretching long enough that I finally look up and find him staring at me, green eyes moving over my face before dropping to the fist I still have twisted in my shirt.

Theo’s brows pull together, his eyes lingering on mine before he mutters, “Ah, shit.”

His hand closes around my wrist, warm fingers firm against my skin.

Come on.”

He turns and pulls me into motion with him, and somehow I’m already following before it occurs to me that I have no idea where he’s taking me.

“What?” I stumble after him, tugging uselessly against the hand locked around my wrist. “No.”

He doesn’t even slow down.

“Don’t make me regret this more than I already do, princess.”

“Regret what? You’re the one who—”

Theo pushes through a door and drags me in after him before I can finish, the familiar locker room opening up around us as I finally manage to pull my wrist free.

“I’m fine,” I insist, even though he hasn’t asked, the words rushing out quickly enough that I hear exactly how unconvincing they sound.

Theo turns to face me, and whatever argument I’m preparing catches when I realise he isn’t laughing. He looks at me too long, green eyes fixed on mine in a way that makes me want to look anywhere else.

“Wanna try that again?”

I shove my hands into my pockets before he can see them properly, and my shirt pulls tight across my stomach. My fingers are halfway back out before I stop myself, burying them deeper into my pockets.

It’s coffee. A wet shirt. That’s all this is, and I don’t need to touch it again or smooth it out or get it off right this second. I can leave it exactly as it is.

Theo turns towards one of the lockers and starts digging through it, apparently unconcerned with the fact that I’m standing in the middle of a hockey locker room I have absolutely no business being in.

I keep my eyes on Theo as he digs through the locker, following the careless sweep of his hands as he shoves things aside, the scrape of plastic against metal and the heavy thud of something hitting the bottom when he drops it. He mutters a curse and reaches further in, knocking something else over in the process, and I latch onto every fucking sound.